Queen's droring-rooms, troopin' the colours, and trotting young NASRULLA round, Is sights your true patriot's nuts on, and I've done _my_ bit, you be bound. I chi-iked to young Ingy-rubber, and give him the haffable nod; And if H. R. H. didn't twig me, and drop me a smile, well, it's odd. Hart's 'aving its innings, as usual, and so is old W. G., Only more so. My eye and a band-box, a rare bit o' stuff _he_ must be! As nigh forty-seven as don't matter, as big as a barrel, and yet A-piling 'is centries like pea-shellin'! Sound Double Gloster, you bet! I sor him at Lord's, mate, last Thursday, five 'ours and a arf in the sun, A smiting and running as if, at 'is age, with 'is weight, it was fun! _'Ot_, CHARLIE? My collar flopped limp, and I lapped lemon-squoshes--a number; And there wos 'e tottling 'is Thousand, as cool as a bloomin' cowcumber. I wouldn't ha' done it for tuppence; no, not with the cheerings chucked in, Although the Pervilion fair rose at 'im. 'Ow gents of clarss, and with tin, And no _need_ to it, CHARLIE, choose Cricket, at ninety degrees in the shyde, When they could lay hidle, fair licks me. But, there, hevery one to 'is tryde! A dust-coat, a white 'at, a field-glass, a landau and lashings o' fizz, At Hascot would suit _me_ fur better. The old sport o' kings _is_ good biz, With shekels, and luck, like Lord ROSEBERY! Scissors! I _do_ 'ate a Rad. But a sportsman, as pulls off two Derbies, wy 'ang it, 'e _carn't_ be no Cad. If Primrose would only turn Primroser, wot a fair topper he'd be! Wot _can_ be 'is little gyme, CHARLIE, to foller old W. G.? (I don't mean the cricketer this time.) That Liberal lot ain't no clarss, With a lot o' tag-rag they carn't hold, and a lot o' bad Bills they carn't parss. The blot on this Season is Parlyment. Wy don't they 'urry it up, And scoot to country, the cripples? St. Paul's to my tarrier pup, They'd git a 'ot 'iding this journey. Let ROSEBERY cut the thing short, Chuck 'ARCOURT and pal on with Gentleman JOE, _like_ a gent, and a Sport! Then 'ARRY will talk to 'im, CHARLIE! Ah, well, I ain't got no more room, Though I ain't done the Season arf justice. The last pale laburnum's in bloom, But it ain't bin washed brimstone with rain-bursts. Our SARAH is hover from Parry, Sir ORGUSTUS is fair on the toot, so 'Ooray for the Season! Yours, 'ARRY. * * * * * NEW BOOK AND QUERY.--"_Women's Tragedies._ By H. D. LOWRY." Is the tragic history of _That Lass of Lowrie's_ included? "But that is another story." * * * * * NOW WE'RE FURNISHED! This is how the Guardians of the Midleton Union (County Cork) transact business:--